The Winter Formal
by artisticallyunwritten
Summary: And Stiles felt someone suck the air out of his lungs and his words got caught in his throat. Because Lydia was standing, right here, in front of him and she had never looked this fragile. Never so close. Set in Senior Year. Fluff.


**Disclaimer: If Teen Wolf had been mine, I would probably not have been up at ungodly hours in the morning, drowning in Stydia feels.**

Whoever said that fresh air calms down the senses and makes a human body feel better, thus relaxing the brain and helping control stressful thoughts, was undeniably, positively and absolutely wrong. Because the only thing that Lydia Martin felt as she walked on the irritable gravel on the roads of Beacon Hills was anger. Pure seething rage. She could _feel_ the blood boiling in her veins and if Stiles Stilinski so much as stepped foot within her radius of vision she would murder him. With her bare hands. No claws or sacrifices required. She would scratch his eyes out and hang him to a tree and watch the sarcasm pour out of his veins. For Lydia, had long ago formed the belief that Stiles' heart pumped out sarcasm instead of blood, and if she would look up in the beastiary she'll probably find some creature who used sarcasm as it's super power. Scott had claws, Allison had knives, she can scream and Stiles Stilinski was sarcastic. The Fantastic Four that they were.

The version of Lydia that was just a girl in her Senior year, ditching her date on the Winter Formal and not the Banshee who predicted deaths, felt like screaming. But she convinced herself that there was no point in wasting so much energy over the male specimen of the human race in a world this patriarchal, especially if said male was a sarcastic tool-head who never did anything right. Walking in her heels on the uneven gray surface was not exactly the epitome of comfort but damn Lydia Martin if she turned around and walked back to the night that was supposed to be the most memorable of her school-life. Because it wasn't. Because Stiles Stilinski ruined it. Because Stiles Stilinski always ruined everything.

Lydia huffed and kept walking, maiming Stiles in her head. The breeze was cold and her sleeveless dress didn't help keeping her warm and she missed the times when Stiles would let her wear his hoodie when they worked together into peculiar hours of the night acting Sherlock to the Pack. And then she maimed Stiles Stilinski in her head some more. Logic told Lydia that she was walking alone on the roads of Beacon Hills during the night and she shouldn't be surprised if something bounced in front of her, tore her to pieces and exhibit her remains for the whole town tomorrow. Which is why, Lydia should probably go back to the party and wait for someone to give her a ride home. But the part of Lydia that did not want to see Stiles Stilinski would die sooner than go back.

Because she will not go in a three feet distance of that ball of wit and sarcasm, lest she kills herself or someone else. She closed her eyes and kicked the pebble in front of her. Her feet hurt. She felt cold. And the walk had not helped her frustration. Not one bit. She let out a sob of annoyance. She was so excited for tonight. She had gone shopping. Bought herself the perfect purple dress. The perfect jewelry. Played out two hundred different scenarios in her head that were supposed to happen tonight. And then she had waited. And then waited some more. Waited till one day before the Winter Formal. And Stiles Stilinski didn't ask her out. No, Fred Murphy did. And so she had said yes. Because Lydia Martin wouldn't be caught dead pining over a boy. Tonight was supposed to be the night when she wouldn't have to worry about werewolves or packs or sacrifices or deaths. Scott had even promised them that he will try to make everything as normal as possible. And he had.

So with the perfect purple dress. The perfect night. A perfectly good-looking and charming date. Lydia Martin was power walking on the roads, cold, frustrated and hurting.

Lydia Martin did not pine over boys. Boys worshiped the grounds that Lydia Martin walked on. So Lydia had secretly declared all of it "Stiles' loss" and decided to have a good night. And she had tried. So when Fred told her she looked "pretty", she remembered how Stiles had used "beautiful" instead. And when Fred asked her to dance, and she said no, he didn't insist. And when he decided to talk to her, she noticed how the striking blue of his eyes wasn't the warm brown of Stiles'. But she had ignored all of that and talked to him. Fred was really smart, she gave him that. And two years ago, she might have enjoyed his company. But two years later, all she noticed was the lack of sarcasm and wit. He hadn't even bothered to ask for her opinions; maybe he didn't believe she had any. And all of it had started to get on Lydia's nerves. Because Stiles Stilinski was ruining her night.

Frustrated, she had scanned the room for that Devil's Spawn and had seen him on the dance floor with some blonde she didn't recognize. She was saying something to him, and he was nodding his head as he danced, and Lydia had felt something surge inside her. She wanted to throw the glass of punch, in front of her, on that girl's clothes and smack Stiles across the face for causing all of this. But she couldn't. Because Lydia Martin doesn't get jealous over boys. She turned around to look at Fred instead, and noticed he was still talking. Lydia had just smiled tightly in response. As soon as that man halted for breath, Lydia had seen opportunity and excused herself for a moment. Confused as the poor soul was, he nodded. Lydia felt sorry for him. He had just got stuck with her on the wrong day.

Lydia had marched across the room to the bar, and asked for a coke. She tapped her fingers against the counter as she waited only to have somebody stand right next to her. She didn't see him, she just felt the warmth radiate off his body. And she knew. He had greeted her shortly. See, he shouldn't have done that because Lydia was now only left with two options. Either kiss him, because she felt the best she had felt the entire night or throw her coke in his face because he just didn't get it. She decided to forego both those options and greeted him, just as shortly.

Now Lydia could have been a perfectly nice human being, taken her coke and gone off to her table. But she wasn't. No. Stiles needed to share this misery with her. He had made her feel jealous, he needed to feel the same. So she had just around and casually asked him if he was having a good time, hoping against hope that he would reply in the negative.

"Yeah, it's cool," he had replied. "Although I couldn't see my date anywhere."

Lydia tried to ignore the fact that not only did he not complain, he almost made it sound as if he was concerned about his date. No, Lydia would just rub salt in his wounds.

So she very carefully chose the moment to twist her hair around her forefinger and point to Fred with her eyes. "I came here with Fred, he's a really great guy." _Let's play it dirty then._

"I noticed." Stiles had replied. And that had been it. No complains. No comments about Fred. No sarcasm. No emotion. And that hit Lydia somewhere hard in the gut, because she was so certain that a guy like Stiles who wore his heart on his sleeve would have something to say about it. Anything. But no, it was as if he was indifferent to whom she dated. And then it had struck her; eight years is perhaps an extremely long time to wait for someone. She had swallowed the lump that developed in her throat and was about to walk off when she heard Stiles' voice. He had called out her name.

She didn't turn around to face him, she had just stood there. Waiting for him to continue. "I think you look really beautiful tonight."

And just like that the entire room had fallen silent in that moment and it was just her and just him and she was not looking at him but she felt his presence all around her, engulfing her. She could've sworn she was hearing his heartbeat along with her own and his breaths complimenting hers. And that did it for her. She walked out of the party.

And now here she was, on the roads of Beacon Hills, headed nowhere, frustrated and cold. She had no idea why she was acting the way she was. Because all Stiles had really done was not ask her out. And he had a right to do that, right? So maybe he didn't feel the same. And he wasn't wrong. She couldn't force out feelings from him. The guy had been crushing on her for eight years, and she didn't even bother to look at him, it was only fair that Karma bite her in the ass the way it did. Don't underestimate Lydia, she can understand all of that. But that wasn't helping her anger in any way.

Because when she put her lips against Stiles' that day, she had felt something shift inside of her. And when Stiles walked into the room, she would literally feel warmth spread in her gut. And sometimes when he bought her, her favourite Latte when the two of them were out hunting for clues, she would smile because she never told him what her favourite Latte was. And sometimes, their hands would brush against each other, or their knees, or their legs. And Stiles would keep on working as if it was only just natural that some part of hers touches some part of his. And sometimes, he would visit her house bouncing on toe to toe because he had figured out something and the two would come up with all sorts of theories until they collapsed on her bed together in awkward positions, only to wake up the next morning with her head on his torso and his hands in her hair. She remembered how Stiles was too shy to take his shirt off, when he got hurt and she eventually had to give up and leave him on his own with the first aid kit. Sometimes Stiles would knowingly smirk at her, when she rolled her eyes. And when the two argued about something, it would all get so heated and all Lydia really wants to do then was to put her lips on his to shut him up. And this time, when he got her, her birthday present, it was just the book she was searching for, all over town, and inside a note had said "_Thank you for existing."_ And all Lydia could do was smile as her heart beat furiously.

So excuse Lydia Martin if she thought Stiles would ask her out to the Formal. And excuse Lydia Martin if she felt like blaming Stiles for all this chaos. And excuse Lydia Martin if she felt annoyed. And excuse Lydia Martin for having all these feelings for Stiles Stilinski.

Lydia kept walking without any destination in her mind when suddenly her phone started buzzing. She ignored it. She really wasn't in the mood to talk to someone, she just wanted to vent in peace. It wasn't safe, Lydia was aware. Maybe it was Allison calling her to warn her about some illegitimate son of the devil that had chosen Beacon Hills for vacation, but Lydia was too angry to do anything about it. Hence, she took out her phone, didn't bother to check the caller ID, didn't spare a glance to the screen that told her she had several unread messages and switched it off. Because damn Stiles Stilinski and his plaid shirts and his flailing and his wit and his thought process and his face. Yes, that is reason in Lydia's usually logical head. Deal with it.

She couldn't remember how long she had been walking her uncomfortable walk and venting before she heard a car honk.

"I swear, if this is some cheap, drunk jerk who is planning to hit on me,he will witness the Derek-if-he-was-pregnant-on-the-full-moon side of Lydia Martin." She thought, clenching her jaw.

There was more honking. Lydia ignored it.

Then there was more of it. Lydia felt the blood pulse in her neck.

Some more honking. Lydia's fists clenched.

_Honk Honk! _

"Oh for the love of all that is Holy and Sacred!" She screamed, turning around and throwing her hands up in the air, fully expecting some vehicle that was not a jeep or blue or looked like piece of crap. Except that it was.

It came to a halt right before her with a jerk and His Holiness Stiles Stilinski, who just happened to be maimed beyond rescue in Lydia's head, jumped out.

"Finally! I was looking all over town for you woman." Stiles greeted.

Lydia turned around and kept walking, with her arms folded as a greet-back.

"Hey, hey! Lydia? Where are you going?"

"Somewhere."

"Oh in the middle of the night in Beacon Hills, alone? Yeah, I can totally see how you got that 5.0 GPA." Stiles rolled his eyes. Do you notice the cardinal sin here? _Stiles rolled his eyes._ At a very pissed off Lydia Martin. At a very pissed off Lydia Martin who was in fact pissed off at him.

"Oh, so I can't take a stroll down the road without being declared stupid. Because I'm a girl? Very chivalrous of you Stilinski." She replied, her tone short.

"Wha-? When did I ever say anything about you being a girl?" Stiles asked, confusion evident in his eyes, his mouth hanging open in that way that made Lydia roll her eyes at the cuteness of it. She told herself, she didn't acknowledge the cuteness tonight. She rolled her eyes anyway.

"It was implied." Lydia told him, raising her eyebrows.

"No it wasn't"

"Yes, it was."

"No, it wasn't."

"It was."

"Okay, Lydia. I don't know if you suddenly forgot what town you live in, but there have been more unexplainable murder reports than harassment reports recently. And I don't really think that supernatural psychopaths actually have a gender preference, all right? So no. It wasn't implied.

"Well, I can take care of myself." Lydia told him and continued to walk. She had no idea why she was treating him this way, but she was angry and Stiles was just taking it all without complaints. She did feel guilty about it, but knowing that a guy who liked you ever since boys thought that girls had cooties suddenly didn't show any romantic interest in you when all you wanted to do was pepper his face with kisses, kind of stung.

"Never said you couldn't!"

"So why are you here?"

"Because I was worried alright. And that thing in your purse? One of sciences' many innovations that allow us to communicate and is a real blessing at times –"

"The cell phone."

"Yes the cell phone! Pick that thing up when somebody calls you Lord knows how many times because the person on the other end, yeah, that person is sweating his skin off in worry." Stiles pointed out in his usual fashion of flailing hands and animated facial expressions. He was standing in front of her now, looking at her as if she had actually made him panic a little.

See, this is why Lydia was expecting him to ask her out. Because he didn't have to leave the Formal. But he did. And he "sweated his skin off" looking for her. And she was just so touched, because nobody has ever done that for her. Nobody had ever complimented her with so much honesty. Nobody had tried to notice the little things. He did. And Lydia felt her heart flutter.

But he hadn't asked her out. And he probably didn't want to. Because she had waited, and he didn't seem a little bit bothered about Fred and he had a date of his own. And the fluttering stopped.

"Look, I appreciate your concern but you didn't have to do this. I am fine alright? And you probably have your date waiting back at school and I just needed a breather. The music was too loud and I was just taking a walk, I'll just head –"

"Why did you come with him?"

"What?"

"Why did you come with Fred to the Formal?" Stiles asked, his voice soft and his eyes sad. The same sad that they get every time he was genuinely upset about something. The brown dimmed a bit and they kept darting from the road to her.

And Lydia knew, that at this point she could pretend that she didn't understand what Stiles meant. And she could not tell him that she had waited for him to ask her. Lydia knew that she can just get away with this situation with an intact dignity. But she also knew that Stiles was never afraid to tell her how smart she was or how beautiful she was or how long he had liked her. And it would be entirely unfair to him if she played this moment safe.

So in the most quiet and vulnerable voice that Stiles Stilinski had ever heard Lydia Martin use, she told him the blatant truth. "Because you didn't ask me."

And Stiles felt someone suck the air out of his lungs and his words got caught in his throat. Because Lydia was standing, right here, in front of him and she had never looked this fragile. Never so close.

"I was planning to." Stiles replied just as quietly.

"When? I waited till the very last day!" Lydia replied, her voice rising a bit above the whisper that it was previously.

"Guy has feelings for girl since third grade. Girl doesn't give much implication that she was interested. Excuse the guy if he was trying to muster up enough courage to ask girl out." Stiles' lips turned up at the corners.

"I _did_ want you to ask me."

"How would I've known Lydia?"

"Because we kissed. Because I am closer to you than anybody else. Because we wake up in the same bed, cuddled in awkward positions almost as often as we don't. Because you know me better than most people. Because you were just supposed to know alright?" Lydia punched his chest with all the frustration that had built up inside of her.

If Stiles Stilinski was surprised by it, he didn't let it show. Maybe somewhere deep down, he _did_ know.

"You could've asked me."

"Okay, the feminist in me just died a very gory death, but I wanted _you_ to ask."

Stiles took a step closer to Lydia, "Why?" His voice was low, husky.

Lydia took a step back to accommodate him. "I don't know, I just wanted to." Her voice just as quiet.

"You could've given me a hint." Another step forward.

"It wouldn't have felt the same." Another step backwards.

"I would've made sure it did." Forward.

"I didn't want to force you into it." Backwards.

"Why would you think you'd _force_ me?" Another step in the front.

"Because I thought you were over me." Another step behind. And then her back was pressed against the hood of his jeep.

"Why in the name of Alpha's Sharpest Claw would you think that?" Stiles raised his voice. And Lydia felt that she had just risen from a trance. Stupid, clumsy Stiles Stilinski had to ruin the moment like that! Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Because you didn't show any interest!" Her voice was just as loud, just as prepared for the verbal battle about to ensue.

"So I stopped being the Stiles that bothered you with his crush, because I thought that annoyed you. Why would I be over you?" Stiles raised his arms in the air.

"I kissed you Stiles!" Lydia screeched as if stating the obvious.

"When I was having a panic attack. And then we didn't talk about it. And then you went back to the normal life that involved Aiden!" Stiles responded.

"I broke up with Aiden ages ago!"

"Oh, I am sorry I didn't get that memo."

"Don't you get snarky with me, Stiles Stilinski." Lydia said pointing her finger at his chest.

"Freddie dear, doesn't get snarky with you?"

"Oh please! You had a date tonight!"

"It was Allison!" Stiles looked up to the Heavens as if asking for Divine help.

"Hang on, you came with Allison?" Lydia asked, genuinely confused.

"She didn't want things to get more complicated with Scott and Isaac, so she just came with me." Stiles clarified.

"Then who was that blonde?"

"Which blonde?" Stiles' eyebrows furrowed.

"That blonde on the dance-floor."

"Lydia, honestly I can't even remember who you're talking about!" Stiles said.

"You know, we could've saved so much hassle, if you could've just asked me in the first place." Lydia replied.

"I was planning to, but then you said yes to Murphy!" Stiles shouted

"Because you didn't. Because I thought you were over me!" Lydia screamed back.

"I was just gathering enough courage alright? Why would you even think that? Miss I-am-so-smart-I-have-a-5.0-GPA!" Stiles voice boomed over the night.

"How much time did you need to muster up courage Mr. I-will-go-ahead-and-kill-myself-for-Scott?" Lydia screeched just as loud.

Stiles just stared at her then. She was panting, just as badly as he was. Her eyes were alight with emotion and they were standing so close, he could feel the heat of her body. And she was looking at him and he was looking right back. And she was close, so close; he could see the very light dust of freckles on her nose.

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. And then he opened them again. Without uttering a single word, he moved closer to Lydia, until their bodies touched and he took her left hand in his right and entwined their fingers.

"I am not over you; I won't be in the foreseeable future. And if you like it this way, I won't ever be over you." He whispered softly, caressing her cheek with his other hand.

"So, what do you plan to do about it?" Lydia questioned just as softly.

Stiles stared at her for a moment. And then his eyes flickered to her lips. She licked them in anticipation. And as soon as the light pink of her tongue reclined back in her mouth after caressing her lower lip, Stiles leant forward and claimed it.

The kiss was soft; he lightly sucked on her lower lip as Lydia gently caressed his. And before it had even begun, Stiles pulled back. He leaned his forehead against Lydia whose eyes were still closed. Oh, Lydia Martin had been kissed. Lydia Martin had been _more_ than kissed. But never had it been so honest. Never did it leave her breathless by a simple touch. Never had Lydia Martin felt warmth spread in her entire body to the very tip of her toes.

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up at him, their foreheads still touching. "Never get over me."

"Yes ma'am." Stiles replied, his lips turning upwards, before he leaned in again, and this time Lydia met him halfway. Her hands found place at the nape of his neck, where she played with his hair, slightly tugging at them, making him groan. Stiles gently kept his hands on her waist and pushed harder against her mouth, lightly biting her lip.

"Lydia," he asked against her lips, "go out on a date with me some time?"

"Mhmm." Lydia replied, her lips too busy to form a coherent response.

Stiles moved his lips to her jaw, placing feather light kisses all the way across it. "And another one after that?" he breathed against her skin.

"Yes." Lydia gasped, as she leant her head sideways to give him access.

"And I get to kiss you anytime I want?" He was so close to her ear.

"And you walk me to my classes." She replied in a whisper, as he licked the expanse of skin behind her ear and bit on her lobe. Lydia gasped.

"I call you at nights." He sighed, eyes closed, attacking her neck and showering it with little pecks.

"And talk to me until I sleep." Her hands tugging on his hair, not so lightly anymore, and his arms completely encircling her so that their bodies were crushed against each other. The dark sky of Beacon Hills bore witness to the sighs that they let out.

He was back at her lips then, and his pace slowed down now. He was taking his sweet time to memorize every curve and crevice of her mouth and Lydia was sucking on his lower lip. And then finally when he pulled back and they caught their breath and they opened their eyes and finally _finally_ looked at each other, the world became so much more beautiful.

"You will be my boyfriend." Lydia informed him.

Stiles kissed her forehead in reply. "I'll be your boyfriend."

And Lydia melted in his arms, her head on his heart that beat erratically, and her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

"You want to head back to the Formal?"

"No." Lydia replied kissing his Adam's apple. Stiles felt his eyes roll at the back of his head. "You're sensitive here," Lydia noticed.

Stiles let out a throaty sound.

She kissed his Adam's apple again.

"You're going to be the death of me, Lydia." Stiles groaned.

"And what a wonderful way to die would that be." Lydia replied.

Stiles chuckled, just before she kissed him again.

_What a wonderful way to die that would be._

**A/N: That kiss in 3x11 sort of killed me. Read and Review? I'll give you curly fries.**


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